Loki: King of England?
by LJ-Of-Asgard
Summary: The Tesseract likes to misbehave. This time, the Avengers and Loki are sent careering back to England in 1413. Mishaps, long walks and doppelgängers abound, Loki and the Avengers brace themselves for another manic bout of time and alternate-reality travelling. -sub/spin-off from Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey-
1. Chapter 1

He was falling. Down, down, down into deep blackness for what seemed like an eternity.

_Not again_, Loki scowled, and flung his arms out as if that would help him get a better sense of where he was, but there was just nothing around him. Nothing. On the flipside, it didn't seem akin to the fall from the Bifrost. No, he could actually _feel_ something this time instead of hollow emptiness; there just wasn't anything to be_ seen_.

And then he landed, a sea of green and brown exploding into his vision, momentarily stunning him.

"A'wright, evweyone 'ere-" Loki heard a familiar voice after all his senses returned to him, although it sounded like whoever was talking had a mouthful of dirt. Loki supposed that was indeed a possibility as he felt the coarse ground beneath him, and the wet stickiness of mud on the side of his face which lay down on the ground.

Pushing himself up and to his feet, he sourced the voice to a rather bedraggled looking Tony, who was currently spitting dirt out of his mouth. His ragged appearance was due to him being overtired and running on the vestiges of caffeine in his system, Loki suspected.

"Lokester!" Tony fumbled around to find some purchase in the ground where he could push himself up to a standing position, his inferior height whilst talking to Loki from the ground made the muscles in his neck protest violently every time he looked up. Damn those Asgardians and their unnecessary.. tallness.

Loki visibly cringed at the name, he'd considered offering a helping hand to the inventor but that thought went out the window as soon as he'd heard his new name.

"I don't require a nickname, Stark. Loki will do fine." Loki raised an eyebrow to emphasise his point. Tony shrugged, and clapped him on the back as he walked past, sending Loki's armour rattling.

"Wow, why the hell do you wear so much armour?" Tony turned at the sudden rattle, lips quirked upwards in amusement.

"Warrior culture. And you are a fine one to talk, Stark." Loki stated simply as he surveyed his armour for any damage, and his gaze came to rest upon Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Steve standing in a line, most of them mud-streaked from the bumpy landing, but all wearing the same, incredulous expression on their faces.

"What?" Loki and Tony chorused, Loki's dry tone just undercutting Tony's indignant whine. The sudden synchronization caused Tony to turn and shoot another amused smirk Loki's way, much to the god's displeasure.

"The Tesseract. It misbehaved. Again. And we're here." Bruce stated in broken up sentences, as if he was thinking of more to add after each pause.

"And you're talking about the latest Asgardian fashions." Clint interjected with a huff, folding his arms.

"It's not like this was unexpected." Tony stated, placing his hands on his hips and standing straighter, obviously annoyed at being so much shorter than the lanky god stood next to him. Clint snorted, muffling a laugh rather indiscreetly.

"It'll pass." Loki added, with a nonchalant shrug as he scuffed the ground with his boot. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled group.

"Where is _here_, exactly?" Steve mumbled after a long pause, looking around. He stood stock-still when everything came into view.

They were surrounded by people. All kinds of people. Some wearing little more than rags, with some a little better off in rough cloth, to a few who wore finer materials and then many important looking people in armour and clenching unsheathed swords. Exactly _how_ they'd managed to miss them was beyond Steve.

"Now, there's no need for that." Loki said smoothly, fixing the nearest important-looking-person-with-a-sword with a steely glare. The man's hand wavered slightly, but he still kept his sword aimed.

"Where did you come from?" A curious little boy piped up from behind his mother's back, eyes wide and gleaming with interest.

"That's of no concern to you, boy." the god muttered, "What is this place?" Loki stepped forward, causing the crowd to move away with quick steps. He couldn't help the smirk that worked its way onto his face. This entire situation was quite amusing to him, even if he did look like a madman who just fell from the sky.

Which he was. Although with less of the madman and more of the falling-from-the-sky part.

"L-London. England." the sword-wielder whom Loki had his gaze fixed upon answered with a stutter, and his hand shook again as Loki took another, smaller step forward.

"And the year?" Loki pressed, eyes narrowing.

"1413." the man replied, stepping back and stumbling over an ill-placed rock. Loki laughed, a dry, rattling sound that set the armed men on edge.

"Oh, what is this?" Loki heard a thickly-accented voice over the low commotion that had begun. The crowd dispersed as quickly as they had gathered, moving back to their mundane chores.

Another guard. On horseback. Great. Loki took note of his shield – it bore the red cross of St. George, but a blue border ran around the perimeter, and in the uppermost right corner, a fleur-de-lis was visible. Ah. French.

Loki's calculating gaze moved up to the man's face, shrouded under the hood of his murky, leather cloak which rather resembled mud, if Loki was being entirely honest.

"That is some.. interesting armour." the man spoke, pulling his horse to a stop besides Loki. "Not from around these parts, are you?"

"Clearly." Loki stood his ground, flicking a piece of dirt off his leather overcoat. He could feel the Frenchman staring at him from under his shadow, and so Loki returned the glare.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you-"

"If you _are_ going to do that, you could at least show yourself."

Loki stepped back as the man reached up to his hood, gently lifting it and pulling it back, letting it drop.

If Loki hadn't been a) standing besides a horse and b) in 1413, he would probably have teleported himself away, downed several glasses of mead and forced some enchantment that steadied and/or completely numbed his nerves upon himself before returning.

The man atop the horse was an unmistakable replica of Steve Rogers. The blonde hair, the structured face, the clear blue eyes, the broad shoulders – everything. Bar being French.

Behind him, Loki was vaguely aware of a series of choking noises, suppressed laughter, hysterical questions and the all-too-loud, reverberating thud of Mjolnir dropping to the ground.

"I think I owe Fury another 10 bucks." Steve spoke slowly, eyes wide and stance totally slack with shock.

"My name is Thomas LaFey, and if you have not already, uh, come to realise, I am rather curious about you all. Reasons are obvious, are they not?" the man-who-looked-like-Steve-but-was-most-certainly-not-Steve spoke again, resheathing his sword and hoisting his shield securely onto his left arm, looking at Steve with narrowed eyes.

"With me," Thomas turned his horse and nudged him into a brisk walk, glancing over his shoulder to see if they were following, "I do not know how you got here, or how you plan on getting out for that matter, but there are guards right across this city if you try to run. I'm being nice."

There was a long, heavy silence that fell over each of them like a thick blanket, shrouding their thoughts and feelings in the process. Tony, as ever, was the first to break it.

"Did we just get arrested by French Steve from 1413?"

"It would seem so." Loki replied, his eyes still remained locked upon Thomas' back.

"Glare at that guy anymore and you'll burn a hole right through him." Natasha quipped softly, moving up to walk besides Loki. The tiniest quirk of Loki's lips notified her that he had at least found some amusement in her statement.

"Thomas. You cannot blame us for being curious about you also, so perhaps a little more, er, information on you wouldn't go amiss? You obviously have a high rank with your shield. That's a quality set of plate armour too. Expensive." Loki looked up to Thomas, one questioning eyebrow raised. At first, all he got was a low chuckle, then another bout of silence, before Thomas finally began to speak.

"Expensive is right. If you must know, I am a Champion." the Frenchman turned to look at Loki, an air of nobility in his voice was now clear.

"That is a fine rank." Thor commented, almost absent-mindedly as he looked more interested in his surroundings of dirty streets and rickety houses clumped together to make up a rather feeble looking village.

"You speak as if you know." Thomas retorted, glancing to Thor instead. Thor looked at him and gave a wolfish grin, while Loki simply smirked.

"We do."

"How?"

"I'm sure that will be revealed later." Loki cut in, knowing Thor would be all too happy to go off on a tangent about how he came from Asgard and how astounding its warrior culture was. Which it wasn't, Loki thought.

Thomas gave them both a long, hard stare, before turning back to face forwards again, picking up the slack of his reins and nudging the horse to pick up speed.

All was quiet again for a while, bar the noisy children and screeching mothers, the rattling of trade carts and market stalls and the general hubbub of a village.

Well. Maybe not that quiet.

The motley crew made their way slowly through the throngs of peasants and were only stopped once by a sizeable commotion, which had spooked Thomas' horse, almost throwing the man off. Tony concluded this would have been a welcome sight.

Once again, the crowd dispersed at Thomas' arrival, and he moved to the source. On the ground, two men sat, breathing heavily, like they'd just been engaged in a fight of some sort. Thomas duly noted that there was a run-down inn to their right. Drunks.

"Jack." Thomas said to one of the men, who looked up to him at the sound of his voice. He had a very neat goatee for someone of the middle ages, and it wasn't until Loki reached the man's eyes that he realized it was indeed Tony Stark's carbon copy.

"Right, I'm seeing a theme here." Loki heard the man in question say, loudly and with a clear air of sarcasm.

"You are already walking a dangerous line with Harry, Jack." Thomas sighed, dismounting his horse with a heavy thud as he hit the ground. He walked over and the other man scarpered faster than a bullet from a gun. Dejectedly, Jack reached up a mud covered hand, and Thomas took it and pulled him up.

"He won't do anything." Jack mumbled, dusting himself off best as he could.

"Blacksmith." Thor said to Loki in a hushed tone and the trickster nodded in agreement. The dust covered, leather apron was a giveaway, if not for the slightly sooty-but-mostly-muddy face.

Suddenly, Jack was right in front of Loki, staring up at him with dark, hooded eyes, laughter lines clearly visible.

"He looks-"

"Like Harry. Don't you think I noticed? Look at _my_ double." Thomas chortled, gesturing to Steve, who didn't know whether to look affronted or passive. He settled for the latter.

Jack turned back to Thomas, dumbfounded.

"You reek of alcohol." Loki stated to Jack, who turned back to him in another sudden movement, index finger raised towards the now amused god in a threatening gesture.

"You keep your mouth shut, boy." Jack hissed, dark eyes narrowing in anger.

"Boy?" Loki snorted incredulously, eyes hardening.

"He speaks like Harry too." Thomas commented to himself, wandering back over to his horse. "You're going to get on just _fine_." the man laughed as he swung up onto his horse, securing his shield and gathering the reins up again.

"Foolish, vain, conceited, stupid boy." Jack muttered under his breath, turning away from Loki, a string of words unfolding in angry whispers, some repeated and some spoken louder than others.

"You forget, Jack. He's a King now." Thomas sat deep in his saddle, and was about to spur the horse on when he heard Jack's loud exclamation from besides him.

"King? _King? _The boy cannot even hope to look after his own friends, let alone a kingdom! Let alone _England_!"

"And you think you could do better? He's young, Jack. Too young. Give him time."

"And this is just what England needs. We're on the brink of war with France –which, by the way, should you not be protesting? - and there's a _boy_ sitting on the throne!"

"I believe you have a few swords that need finishing." Thomas said cooly with an air of finality, not sparing a look at the raging blacksmith.

"Oh, great. Alcoholic in this life too." Tony scowled, brow knitted in anger as he stumbled along the dusty path behind a still shell-shocked Steve and an incredibly amused Clint.

"_I.._ am no drunk." Jack said to Tony as the group began to pick up a decent walking speed once again instead of stumbling over hidden rocks and potholes.

"Denial. Second sign." Tony retorted. Jack just shot the inventor a disdainful look and turned away, walking briskly besides Thomas and his horse.

"What, you think Harry is going to deal with this too? Magic?" Jack shot to Thomas and gesturing behind him, the Champion paid the sentence no attention. Instead, yet another silence broke out over the group apart from the odd yelp or shuffling of jackets and clothes as someone fell or almost fell and grabbed on to the nearest person as a response.

"For someone who claims to hate him, you talk about him a lot." Thomas commented drily after the 4th yelp and noisy clothes ruffling, followed by an actual complaint this time from Clint.

"Ah! He was fine as a prince. A laugh. Always in the tavern, drunk or with some woman." Jack threw his hands in the air exasperatedly, bringing them down to his sides when the horse skittered dangerously to the side.

"You are forgetting that he drove his father insane because of it."

"The man was death incarnate!"

"He hardly led an honourable life, granted."

"_Was_?" Loki cut in, more to quell the bickering than anything. He found Jack's drawl combined with Thomas' accent to be incredibly grating on his sensitive ears.

"Dead. As of the week previous." Thomas replied curtly, his tone implying he wanted to say no more on the subject.

After the walk – which turned out to be quite lengthy, much to Clint and Tony's disappointment – they reached the gates of a huge, grey stone castle, standing above a river on high ground for defense. Farms and markets were littered immediately outside the castle walls, guarded by sentry towers and patrols on horseback and on foot. Along the top of the walls were further patrols, armed with longbows and crossbows and spears, and Loki concluded that their range would stretch a fair distance from their height if Asgardian archers in their towers were anything to go by.

A low whistle from Tony, a few appreciative murmurs from Bruce and Steve and a few remarks on how they could get inside, undetected, from Natasha summed up the thoughts that now buzzed around Loki's mind like a squabble of children pandering for attention, and he disregarded every one of them. A clear mind was needed to make his way through this mess without causing a train wreck of some description.

Thor hopped lightly from foot to foot, eager to do something more than just walk. Flying would ease off the energy a bit, but the god got the feeling that flying around with a hammer wouldn't be appreciated here.

A low rumble and the clatter of old iron chains alerted Loki to the now-open gate. In the back of his mind, he was aware that Jack had started up a fuss again and he couldn't help a little smile at Clint's comment to Tony ("Wow, and I thought _you_ were annoying. You got nothing on this guy-") which he thought, given the circumstances, was fairly accurate.

Jack left after he finished his rant, presumably to his workshop. Loki did not bother to watch as the man retreated towards one of the outlying markets, the droning of his complaints still rattled around Loki's head, and he was sure it would remain there for some time.

Thomas was about to lead them all through the stone archway, when a faint sound of hoofbeats reached his ears, growing louder and louder, drawing nearer and nearer. He stopped his horse and turned to face the way they came, squinting against the sun glare. He could make out two figures appearing over the crest of the hill they'd travelled down. One figure was slumped over slightly, and it was the shield that gave the rider's identity away. The stark red cross of St. George upon a now muddy white.

"Harry?" Thomas turned his horse and sent him into a gallop, cloak billowing out behind him as he rode towards the figures with a sense of urgency.

"Please don't tell me this is another one of our doppelgängers." Tony whined, planting his butt down on a rock, weary from walking so far. He convinced himself he'd actually try to finish his latest version of the Iron Man suit whenever they managed to get the hell out of here. Preferably a portable one that wasn't as conspicuous as a shiny metal briefcase clearly emblazoned with STARK INDUSTRIES for when the Tesseract decided it wanted to take them all on a relaxing day trip to an alternate reality again. Which it _would_ do until they managed to get the damn thing back to Asgard, along with a pair of Norse gods who _really_ did not get on with Midgardian customs. At all.

Clint shrugged, and joined the weary inventor on the ground, glancing around the group almost instinctively, and he counted off seven. At what point it went from six to seven, he wasn't sure, he still wasn't Loki's biggest fan. Clint lay back against a tree stump that was situated just behind Tony's new-found seat, and concluded that Loki was still a complete ass, but he was… _tolerable_. From a SHIELD Agent's point of view, the guy had a tongue that could cut through ice and he was an excellent strategizer, a useful addition for the most part.

Bruce looked tense and his stance remained guarded, arms folded and shoulders hunched against whatever decided to throw itself at him. In all honesty, he was surprised he'd remained so long without incidents on these trips, whether it was an effect of the Tesseract's power or he'd somehow acquired a perpetual state of zen, he didn't know, or care. At least, not until this all blew over and he could return to his natural habitat of R&D labs to poke and prod about a bit with that.

Natasha remained the embodiment of calm with her passive expression, focused eyes and relaxed stance, as if she was bored or simply content. Loki knew she was not, however; the occasional drumming of her fingers against her thigh or her arm was a sign of unease for the assassin, he'd learnt.

Steve had managed to get his head around the situation at last, prompting Tony to slowly clap and mutter a few sentences heavily laden with sarcasm. He was silenced by a warning glare from Thor, who remained otherwise motionless and expressionless, mostly watching Loki or casting a glance at Mjolnir for lack of anything better to do.

"Alright, taking bets – Thor, Clint, Bruce or Loki?" Tony called out, hands in the air with palms open as if he was going to receive money.

"Tony, shut up." Natasha sighed exasperatedly. "Not the time. Or the place."

"Actually, these medieval types are heavy gamblers!" Tony retorted, standing up. He was about to move forwards but an arrow pierced the ground right in front of his foot. An inch closer and it would have gone right through his toe.

"Wha-" Tony looked up to see a man on the parapet aiming an arrow at him on a longbow, poised and ready to fire. He couldn't quite see the figure in the sun glare, but upon Natasha's exclamation, he guessed it was another member of their crew.

"Clint, we found your double." Bruce muttered drily, confirming Tony's thoughts.

"Don't shoot! We come in peace!" Tony stuck his hands up in the air in mock surrender and started glaring daggers at the man. "And I don't appreciate the fact you almost shot my _foot_ off!"

Clint's double retreated, disappearing behind the parapet. Tony let out a relieved sigh, turning back to the group. He found them all staring into the distance at the 3 figures, who were now galloping back this way, armour and swords glinting in the sun. At least they were easily distinguishable by their horses – one was white, one a light bay and one black.

Upon reaching the bridge, the clatter of horses' hooves quietened and came to a stop.

"Harry, I should think you'll find this curious." Loki heard Thomas say, sounding highly amused. The trickster slowly looked up and was greeted with the velvety nose of the white horse thrust into his face.

Leaning back and extending a finger to push the nose away, Loki looked up to the man atop the horse.

Plate armour, although splattered with blood and dirt, it was carefully crafted – even more expensive than Thomas', Loki suspected – the breastplate half concealed by a deep scarlet cloak emblazoned with a golden lion. In one hand he held a sword, marred with blood and mud but the visible blade gleamed in the sunlight. In the other hand he held the shield that Thomas had so quickly recognized. Eyes travelling upwards, Loki was met with his own face staring back at him through all the crimson of dried blood and deep russet streaks of mud, but the eyes were a striking blue, unlike Loki's bright green. One eye was partly obscured by a blood-matted lock of light red hair which led up and disappeared underneath the golden band of an ornate crown.

Loki saw the man's cheekbones lift with a smirk, and Loki felt himself returning it.

* * *

**A.N: Someone save me from my insanity. I've gone and thrown Henry V into my Avengers' chaotic lives.**

**This _was_ just a drabble to work through my serious writer's block on Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey (someone needs to shoot me with a motivation gun) and I just haVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED ;_;**

**A few notes:**

** - the 1413 OCs are speaking kinda modern-ish, sorry! I took the idea from BBC'S Merlin, they don't speak all oldy-worldy but the fact that they're in the medieval ages is still clear enough. I hope that's true for this little drabble. Welp.**

**- is it finished? Is it not finished? To finish or not to finish? These are all my little annoying questions in my head right now. I have an idea of where this could go, but it would involve me stretching history and skewering it to the point where it no longer becomes history and instead a piece of my warped imagination. Any opinions on this?**

**- Bruce and Natasha's doubles were penned in, but I think they'll appear in another chapter if I decide to continue.**

**- please forgive me for mutilating Thomas' shield embelm.**

_**/ Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or its characters. I do own my 1413 OCs' names, however. Maybe not their faces or their general personalities. Damn.**_

_** I also don't own Shakespeare's, er, writing? I have no idea how to word this part. I don't own any of the Shakespearean influence? XD**_

_** And I don't own Tom Hiddleston/THC's 'Harry'. Also damn. /**_


	2. Chapter 2

They entered a moment in which time seemed to lull. Loki was torn with so many questions to ask but his tongue would not obey, and so he remained in silent scrutiny as Harry slid off his horse, leaning heavily against the animal. He was going to be very different, Loki suspected; Harry didn't look so guilt-ravaged and torn between raging emotions as he. But to Loki, that didn't matter. What _did_ matter, however, was that crown he wore, and Loki hated himself for thinking it. To him, it seemed like a taunt, a pathetic jab at his already-skewered idea of the monarchy and how it felt to rule – to have _complete_ power. He knew was walking a dangerously thin line, caught between wanting to make things… not necessarily make them better, but make things _work_ again, or slipping back into that power-hungry mindset he had so long forced on himself.

Loki could see that Harry's mind was brimming with questions and silent self-conflicts, much like his own. Already, he was able to pin down a few similarities, asides from the physical likeness. From Harry's surprisingly calm response, Loki deduced he was a strategizer like himself, able to think ahead and plan his moves accordingly. From his cold, hard stare, Loki was sure that Harry was almost trying to reach into his mind and dig up some information that would allow him to conjure up a dangerous set of lightning-fast responses, a usefully intimidating tactic that he himself often employed. Of course, when used on two equals, it had no such effect. Loki then concluded that Harry was currently running through a very similar process in his mind, and found himself smirking at the man again.

It took that moment for Harry to think of something to say.

"Curious indeed." A smile slowly worked its way onto Harry's features, his eyes growing soft and breaking the tension that had built up so suddenly. A small laugh escaped him, and he turned to the rest of the group.

"Thomas, you've outdone yourself!" Harry shook his head, his laugh growing louder in surprise, "How are we meant to… _What?" _the words left his mouth in a final breathless laugh of uncertainty, as though he'd been suddenly ambushed by a man too quick for his eyes and ears.

"There is magic at play here, how- _Do you see my problem_?" Harry turned back to Thomas once again, vague hand gestures summing up Harry's sheer confusion as he began to walk amongst the Avengers, casting a scrutinizing eye over each in turn as he rubbed a hand over the light stubble on his chin in thought.

"Well, you like your riddles, Harry. Seeing as that's all you speak for the most part." Thomas scoffed, getting down off his horse also, setting his shield down and removing his gauntlets.

"I'm still King, I can have your tongue cut out if I so wished-"

"But you would not, Harry. Your truce with France forbids it." Thomas chuckled as he walked over to Harry's side, disregarding the matter as if it was a petty disagreement as opposed to the potentially devastating threat of a broken treaty with France and her armies.

"Very well countered, Thomas." Harry admitted, turning his gaze back to the hapless travellers.

In the midst of this banter, Loki felt compelled to turn his attention to the man who rode the black horse. He had dismounted and handed the horses to a waiting stableboy in the meantime. Loki cast a calculating gaze over the man as he had done with Harry. He was thickly built, his face obscured with blood and mud like Harry's was, but it bore an unmistakable similarity to Thor's facial structure. Loki also noted that he looked positively barbaric, like one of those Berserkers he'd often seen in battles. The vicious blue of this man's eyes were even more unsettling than Harry's had been, but something about them held Loki's attention for a moment.

"They seem far too friendly to be me and Loki_._" Steve muttered in hushed tones to the nearest person, who happened to be Clint. The archer shrugged, making a noncommittal noise in response.

"Harry's not bad. If you know what I mean, y'know, for the 1410s or whatever century we're in." Tony commented absent-mindedly to the group, who all turned to look at him with expressions caught somewhere between horror and confusion.

"What? Guy can't appreciate a decent body anymo-" Tony held up his hands in defence as the group began to voice their own opinions, mostly opposing Tony's own. Thor simply looked affronted. Loki continued to ignore them.

"Not if it's _Loki_. I mean, that's like you gushing about Thor or Steve or-" Clint interjected.

"You?" Tony raised an eyebrow, smirking at the flustered archer.

"You get my point!" Clint huffed finally, in a voice that sounded like it was caught between laughing and making a noise of disgust.

Tony was about to reply, when another loud laugh from Harry pulled the group's attention again. So far, Harry laughed a hell of a lot more than Loki did, that was a given, Tony thought to himself as he followed the actions of the group, turning to look at the King again.

The Berserker had strolled over to Harry; a cautious eye lay upon Thor as he murmured something discreet to the evidently amused King. Harry looked back to Loki for a moment, and then to Thor, before going back to the Berserker who faced the group once again. Loki noted that standing abreast, there was little difference between Harry and the Berserker in terms of height and he would be willing to take a guess that a fight between these two would be an even match in strength.

Loki made his way back to Thor, seeing as he was standing away on his own for no particular reason. It had become something of a habit to remain closer to Thor in these past few months, after almost losing him to Jotunheim in one of the first random bouts of time and reality travelling. There was no doubt that it had shaken him, and it was not a fact he chose to hide either.

The sudden silence from Erik and Harry was a little disconcerting, however. The loudness of Loki's thoughts had delayed his recognition of the silent reality, and so the realisation was a harsh break in what was a contenting drone of thought. Suddenly, the Berserker opened his mouth to speak, slowly and steadily, a clear Scandinavian accent creeping up on his vowels.

"It is seldom seen that Gods walk amongst men."

There was a pause as Thor seemed to tense up and drop his guard into place, thinking of a response. When none came to mind, he simply gave a curt nod in confirmation. Gods did indeed seldom walk amongst men.  
Loki had to admit he was pleased with his brother's otherwise passive response to his own doppelganger. Odin knows what Hel would have been unleashed if Thor had taken it the wrong way and resorted to bashing his problems out with Mjolnir as he usually did.

"You must be Thunor- Thor? Erik speaks of you often! How ironic, seeing as you look so alike. Perhaps that's why. He does love himself-" Harry jumped in, speaking a little too fast to be convincing. Loki assumed he was just trying to diffuse the situation.

"I pray you go no further with that sentence, lest you be subject to the traps of irony. You might deny it, but your pride is insufferable at times." Erik cut Harry off with a wolfish grin, all traces of hostility receding, if you ignored the one hand on the hilt of his sword and another clutched around the handle of a bloodied axe. At his full height, he stood almost as tall as Thor, and was of a similar build. A formidable sight indeed, but that was common for most Berserkers.

"I hold my tongue, Erik." Harry gave in, slinking off towards the lowered gates of the castle and beckoning for the group to follow. The King pulled off his worn leather gloves and tucked them into his belt, passing his shield to a waiting armoury servant, who also took Thomas and Erik's unneeded weapons.

"Who does he think he is, ordering us all-" Tony began to comment, cutting himself off midway through his sentence as the rest of the group turned to shoot him with incredulous looks.

"Right. King." The inventor nodded as he voiced his realization aloud. He slowly pulled himself up off the rock and began to follow the group slowly; scuffing his feet every so often like a petulant child would do out of boredom.

"I have to say, you all seem to be a little unfazed about there being a set of, er, doppelgangers running amok." Loki said, ignoring Tony and falling into step besides Harry as he led them into the castle courtyard.

"Sorcery is rife in these difficult times; I've learnt to accept whatever magic may bring, and your unusual predicament does fall under the realm of magic." Harry explained simply, slowing down with an uncomfortable look etched onto his face, as though he was holding back a sentence after a second thought. Loki did not press him further, all they needed was a route to Asgard, which would exist in any reality, and it was just a case of_ getting_ there. A bifrost site was needed. To all of them, England was a foreign land, even more so in the 15th century. Finding what they needed was not going to be particularly straight-forward here.

"As much as you'd like to disappear with your new best friend, Harry, there are matters to attend to first. Why do you and Erik look like you've just come straight from a battle?" Thomas interrupted as he caught up to the leading party, no longer rattling around like a tin man as some of his armour had been removed.

"You don't speak to him like a King, why?" Loki blurted out, a little confused. Through all his distorted pictures of the monarchy, it had never escaped him that he was expected to treat them with a heightened respect.

"Because I detest it." Harry replied, with a tight, uncomfortable smile. Loki let out a short breath, raising one eyebrow in a questioning gesture that soon faltered. It did not matter, and if he was honest, it would certainly make communication a little easier.

"And Thomas, we look like that because that's exactly what happened." the King paused mid-stride, unable to shake a niggling feeling of discomfort from his side. He gingerly prodded beneath his ribs, and found that they were most likely bruised from the blunt ends of blades reaching their target.

"What, two of you, alone?" Thomas snorted incredulously, re-adjusting his cloak.

"Ah, you know me and Erik, fighting crime-"

"No, Hal. This is serious."

"If anything gets any more serious I think I might do a very accurate impression of my father as of last week."

"Please don't." Thomas gave in with a groan, and left Harry smirking victoriously. After a moment, Harry looked to Thomas again, the smirk gone. Instead, his expression was that of an honest man, speaking of that which he did not wish to speak of.

"There was an ambush. The rebels are still in force, it seems." the King seemed to slouch, as though a heavy burden suddenly sat upon his shoulders. "How many, I know not. More than a few, less than an army. I suspect there's more than just one rebel camp that lies here, but while they gather forces I cannot just sit there and do nothing, Thomas-"

"But you cannot send out an army of your own. Speaking as an advisor, it would be a dangerous move on your part. You leave England open to them by only blocking one channel in a few, so to speak." Erik immediately cut in, watching Harry as he looked from Thomas to the castle, as if summing up which was more important.

"And speaking as a warrior?"

"You cannot think as a warrior, Harry."

"A week, Erik. A week with this crown and already, I-" Harry picked the crown off his head, hands tightening around it, turning his knuckles a ghostly white. He shook it once, as if begging it for an answer. Receiving only silence, he turned back to Erik.

Erik moved forwards and Harry stepped backwards in response, holding the crown protectively to his chest as a child would hold onto a toy.

"At least try to sort this out. I will speak to Avalon." Erik gestured to the Avengers behind him, and then strode into the castle and out of sight.

**oOOOo**

"So you have no way of returning, unless you get back to A-.." Harry sat back in his throne, trailing off as his mind drew a blank on Thor and Loki's homeland.

"Asgard." Thor filled in for Harry with a friendly grin, returning to feasting on the wild boar set out on a long, ornate table set off to the right-side of the great hall they now resided in. They being Harry and the new arrivals – Thomas had left for training with his swordsmen and Erik had yet to return from his pursuit of the mysterious Avalon.

"Can I ask a question?" Clint piped up from one side of the room, sounding like a curious kid in school as he did so. Harry nodded, meeting his gaze and leaning forward with interest.

"This is gonna sound weird, but why Henry the fifth and not, I don't know, King Harry?"

"Father's name," Harry shrugged, leaning back and looking up in thought, his brow furrowing, "I do not know how to explain it."

"It just shows the line of succession." Loki offered, gently picking at an apple, hidden behind Thor's hulking frame.

"Is it the same for you on As- Asgard?" Harry asked, pressing further. His inquisitive nature was becoming clear to everyone, and the Avengers had braced themselves for a barrage of questions since setting foot in this hall.

"Yes, but we do it differently and it applies to everyone, not just the monarchy. If you have a son, then the son takes your name as his surname, with 'son' added onto the end. Me and Loki are Odinson, sons of Odin." Thor paused to make sure Harry was following, but he didn't miss Loki's sudden change in demeanour as he turned away and took an interest in another piece of fruit on the table. Harry nodded and gestured for Thor to continue.

"For a daughter, it would be 'dottir'. Does that make sense for you?" Thor finished, taking another bite out of the wild boar leg he had on his plate.

"That sounds much more efficient." Harry chuckled, nodding. "I have another question. You might find it a bit close to home, but for brothers-"

"We look nothing alike?" Loki finished for Harry, a tight smile on his face. Harry nodded, sitting upright in the throne as his back started to ache from his slouching.

"Adopted." Loki answered shortly, his tone implying he wanted to say no more.

"At least you act like brothers. Mine don't." Harry sensed the unease that currently radiated from Loki, and made an attempt to lighten the situation.

"You have brothers?" Loki glanced over his shoulder at the King, who nodded, standing up.

"Three. And they're all idiots. But what can you do?" he spoke quietly, the small upwards quirk of his lips implying he found the subject of brothers amusing.

"I had three brothers also." Loki moved away from the table and towards a vacant seat by the roaring fireplace that lay in a pit in the centre of the room, observing the intricate designs etched into the stone walls of the hall. Thor seemed to visibly deflate, setting his plate down and looking over at Loki with a hardened glare. He felt several pairs of eyes boring into him, but did not return their stares.

"Did he just say 'had' or am I hearing things?" Tony muttered quietly to Natasha, who cast Thor a worried glance. Steve and Bruce seemed to turn their attention away from their plates full of food and to the conversation that bounced back and forth between Loki and Harry.

"Had?" Harry leaned against the throne, arms folded and one questioning eyebrow raised.

"Both slain." Thor said quietly, feeling that Loki was not overly happy about this path of conversation, and so he tried to turn it to an abrupt dead-end.

Harry nodded once in a show of understanding, although he felt uneasy now. That statement had stirred something in his mind. The love he had for his brothers was a strange one. Some would argue that it was not love at all, but something completely different. Nevertheless, to lose one of them would grieve him, let alone two.

The faintest footstep reached Harry's ears, pulling him from his thoughts. Stepping down from the little raised platform his throne stood on, he cast a wary glance down the hall, feeling something was not quite right. His leather boots made little noise on the stone floor as he swept to the side of the room, simply becoming a shadow.

The solid oak doors creaked open and light from the windows in the hall outside flooded in, the ambient flames in the corner made redundant by the natural sunlight. A figure stood in the doorway, shrouded in the light until he moved forward. He was skinny, not very built in stature, but he stood at least 6 foot, which made him taller than most of the occupants of the room already, bar Thor, Loki and Harry. He held his sword at the ready, moving further and further into the room with each delicate step, as though he walked on glass.

"Who-" the man opened his mouth to speak, but Harry had moved out of the shadows and with a deft flick of his wrist and own sword, had sent the man's sword clattering to the floor, the noise failing to mask the yelp of surprise that followed.

"That's no way to greet guests,_ brother_." Harry said grimly, with clear distaste at referring to this man as his kin. His sword remained pointed towards his brother's chest as he spoke. Angrily, the smaller man smashed the sword away with his gauntlet, and nodded once in the direction of the strangers crowded around the long table, watching the proceedings with interest.

"Who are they?" he demanded hotly, dark eyes suspicious.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, John. What are you sneaking around here for anyway?" Harry shot back, resheathing his sword and fixing John with a questioning stare.

"I heard voices," John shrugged, "Nothing major, just voices coming from the hall. Foreign ones. I didn't think they were rebels, you know, it is not as if you have hundreds of fools after you and your crown."

"I appreciate your concern, although I do not doubt that you would do little more than help them if that were the case." Harry sneered, eyes narrowing as he watched John moving away with every step he took in his direction.

"Perhaps you could be useful and go find Erik. If that's not too difficult for you." Harry scoffed, abandoning his pursuit and simply stepping back.

"Oh, I think I can manage." John scowled and left, stomping his way out.

"You forgot your sword!" Harry called, breaking out into mocking laughter as John reappeared, fuming as he went to get his sword.

"You think yourself clever?" John grumbled, drawing the blade on the stone floor with a grating screech as he picked it up.

"I do, actually." Harry smirked, seeing the opportunity for a wind up and grabbing onto it with both hands. He resented John. This man was supposed to be his brother, yet he'd broken all bonds they shared the day their father had proclaimed Harry crown prince. Of course, Harry took it to be jealousy, and had offered John the throne the day their father died, knowing that he himself would hate the burden. It had been a selfish move on his part, and predictably, John refused. That much Harry could understand, but it was when John then fled to Wales and left Harry to deal with complications brought across from Henry VI's reign. After that, their relationship deteriorated past the point of repair. In short, they hated each other and it was clear to see.

"You're insufferable!" John spat, his breaths becoming short and angry, words beginning to spill out through gritted teeth.

"_I'm _bad? You just loiter around this place, pretending to be of use, and when something like this happens, you go running off-" Harry stepped forward, arms outspread in an attempt at a peaceful gesture, but the clenched fists gave away his rising anger.

"I don't run off-"

"Oh, pardon me. You _conveniently leave_ when I get stuck with our father's problems, and then you dare to return and take the glory for yourself!" Harry's voice steadily grew louder, and angry tremors began to make their way down his spine as he drew his arms back to his sides, aware of John drawing his sword up, as if to strike.

Another moment passed where neither brother spoke or moved, each sizing up the opposition and rating their chances if a fight was to break out. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and a smooth, passive mask slipped onto his face as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Get out." the lack of anger in Harry's tone only emphasised the true fury he now felt, watching someone he'd once loved aiming a sword in his face. To invite battle with another was a sign of your hatred, and the hostility in John's stance was certainly enough to subdue Harry for the time being.

"I will not fight you. Get out." Harry tried again, with a better result this time, as John lowered his sword fully, his steely gaze lingering for a few seconds longer, before he turned on his heel and strode out.

"And I thought our two had brother issues." Tony mumbled to Steve around a mouthful of bread, resulting in an unceremonious spray of breadcrumbs over the soldier, who shook them off his jacket with a deflated sigh.

* * *

**A.N: Guess what? You guys, your reviews, follows and favourites made me want to see this one through! However, this was only meant to be a simple writer's block workthrough, and I'll be returning to Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey after this chapter, but there will be chunks of the next chapter on the back burner, so to speak. I'm so glad that you guys enjoy this story, and so I'll leave you with this chapter for now - I hope you enjoy it!**


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